From the Cold
by silenus
Summary: A family secret, the emergence of a new talent. Can two boys find peace and forgiveness in post-war Hogwarts? A Harry/Draco story. *updated chapter 2*
1. Discoveries

Title: **From the Cold**

Author: silenus (silenusnz@hotmail.com)  
Rating: well give it a hopeful R  
Pairing: eventual slash of the HP/DM variety.  
Disclaimer: characters belong to JK Rowling. I'm just borrowing them for a tic. 

Summary: a family secret, the emergence of a new talent. Can two boys find peace and forgiveness in post-war Hogwarts? A Harry/Draco story. 

**Chapter One: Discoveries**

If you lied, 

_I could think that it's all right_

_I could pretend,_

_That I don't see much of anything…_

_… if the truth be told,_

_I'd rather you lied._

'If You Lied', stellar* 

It was one of those things you think will never happen to you. It was unfathomable, and yet a small part of you, that small part that had so readily accepted this as inevitable, couldn't help but be relieved. 

It was over. It had happened. 

There would be no more sleepless nights, just lying in bed contemplating the possibilities of what if. No more whispered conversations and concerned glances. 

And no more denying yourself the only thing you ever wanted, because now she knew. 

Knew that her only son, lying unmoving on the hospital bed before her, would in all probability not last until morning. 

And so, holding her sons hand as he lay comatose and unresponsive, surrounded by both teacher and student alike, Narcissa Malfoy did the one thing that she had denied herself for seventeen years. 

She broke down and cried. 

* * * 

Since her husband's death a year ago, Narcissa had become accustomed to her new role as Mistress of Malfoy Manor. It was in essence a role she had prepared for since birth, yet the presence of her husband had prevented her from being anything but a trophy wife with no power of her own except for what she was allowed to exert over the house elves. 

Now she relished her freedom and took delight in befriending the house elves, a perverse pleasure in defying Lucius even if he was no longer around to be defied. 

She had also taken simple delight in redecorating the entire manor in vibrant colours and extravagant hues. She remembered that Draco had been rather horrified in finding the study striped of its characteristic green and redone in red and gold when he had returned home for the holidays after his sixth year at Hogwarts. However, by the end of the summer, he had found his mothers antics amusing and had even let her redecorate his part of the house in the east wing, though he'd put his foot down and stubbornly refused to have it done in Gryffindor colours, regardless of how well it might have suited the furnishings. 

She had eventually settled on a colour scheme of white and silver, though she had been sorely tempted to use various shades of pink just to spite her son. It would have been worth it merely to see Draco's controlled temper break with having _that_ particular colour in his room. Even now she thought bemusedly about adding a single pink pillow to his growing collection of white and silver ones. 

She had only tried once to entertain at the Manor. 

She did not try again. 

The Manor had become the unofficial headquarters for the Death Eaters during the last days of the War, and as such was forever linked in both Draco's and Narcissa's minds, and as Narcissa found out, in the minds of her guests, as being an infallible 'dark' place. Even the dressing up that the Manor had recently received could not remove its ominous presence. There were even some places that Narcissa, regardless of how many times she had the house elves clean the room or recolour the walls, refused to enter. 

The dungeons. The attic. Lucius's study. 

Though she would, she promised herself, get there eventually. She took comfort in the fact that she was slowly, no matter how slowly, re-taking the house. It would be her coup-de-tat. 

The night that she received the owl from Hogwarts she had been sitting in the drawing room thoroughly engrossed in a game of chess with Pearl, one of her more sociable house elves. Sociable, extremely talkative, and yet a hopeless chess player. Narcissa felt that her own inability to concentrate on the game in most cases proved that all in all, they were probably well matched. 

Had it not been for Pearl's sudden and inexplicable stall in her non-stop chatter, Narcissa may not even have realised that an owl was tapping rather urgently on the stained glass windows opposite. They were the only windows in the room and overlooked both the lake and the formal garden, providing the best outlook from any window in the entire Manor, which was the main reason she frequented the drawing room in the first place. 

"Pearl? Pearl, you should probably go. I'm going to let in." Narcissa had found out, in one rather eventful evening, that her house elf disliked anything that had the ability to fly. She thought that it may have had something to do with some of Lucius's 'activities' during the war, but she certainly wasn't going to pry. "We can finish the game tomorrow." 

Though on a close inspection of the board had to ruefully admit that it might have been better if she'd let the owl in, and in the ensuing debacle could tip over the board – after all, Pearl was thoroughly beating her, and she didn't feel that she could add the humiliation of losing to a house elf to the rest of her troubles. 

She looked up just in time to see Pearl click her fingers and disappear in a cloud of silver, the odd line sparkling as it was caught by the light emitted from the dying embers of the fire, and the preceded to walk over to the window. She had only recently learned that the colour of the apparation clouds produced by house elves were different depending on their actions in respect to their master's (or mistresses) wishes. A gold cloud represented an elf who was acting against their master's orders, a silver cloud an elf acting with. Any variation of these colours represented the degree to which the house elf agreed or disagreed with the order. Narcissa reasoned that this was their own way of defying the rules in a system which disallowed them any privilege at all. Even if no one noticed the distinction. 

It was, she supposed, one of the reasons she was so very fond of them in the first place. 

She reached over and unclasped the window from its frame, and not a moment too soon. The owl, finally granted access to the room circled overhead then settled calmly on the mantelpiece above the fire, its left leg raised slightly and attached to it, plain to see, was an envelope bearing the Hogwarts seal. 

To say that she had not been expecting it would have been a lie, as there was the smallest part of her that already knew what the letter contained and couldn't quite make up its mind between sobbing hysterically, killing the messenger, and apparating to Hogsmeade at once. In the end she settled for taking a few calming breaths and reached for the letter. 

It was with unsteady hands that she broke the seal and opened the letter, recognising at once the familiar scrawl of the Headmaster. 

_To Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy,_

_It is my regret to inform you that your son, Draco Lucius Malfoy, was taken ill this morning and has slipped into a coma from which he has yet to waken. _

_Your immediate presence is requested at the school, tonight if possible._

_If you can apparate to Hogsmeade, I'll have someone from the school meet you there to accompany you the rest of the way._

_We await your owl.  
  
Yours in faith,  
Albus Dumbledore._

It's one of life's mysteries, she supposes, that your body can function quite apart from your mind, without thought. Because she doesn't remember leaving the Manor, nor sending the Headmaster an owl in return, though she supposes that she must have done both of these things because here was Severus Snape, patiently waiting outside the entrance to the Three Broomsticks to meet her. 

Severus Snape had not physically changed since she'd seen him last, the day of Lucius's funeral, but she supposed that the war had taken it's toll on him as much as it had taken its toll on her. The greatest scars, after all, are the ones you cannot see. But she didn't hesitate for a second in taking his offered hand as they made their way towards Hogwarts. 

Now that she was close, this close to both her son and her greatest fear, the energy that had seen her this far dissipated, and each step closer to the school became that much harder. If Severus noticed her reluctance he didn't say, just kept his same steady pace that she grudgingly matched stride for stride. 

"How have you been Severus?" Anything, anything at all to take her mind of the reason for her visit. _Please, please talk to me Severus. _Anything to stop her thinking about her son. Her son who was currently lying in a bed less than a kilometre away, dying. 

"Fine. Yourself?" She remembered belatedly that Severus never had been one for small talk, though he seemed to pick up on what she was trying to do, for he continued, "the students are revising of course, though with the Christmas holidays approaching, no one seems inclined to be doing much of that." 

"I don't remember that being too dissimilar to when we were children. I particularly remember Lucius-" and she broke off quickly, only just remembering that that probably wasn't a memory he wished relived. "I'm sorry." And she was. She could look back on most of her life and see the anger and discord that being with Lucius had created and was sorry for that. Sorry for the hurt she had caused. For her son. For the man walking beside her. For herself. And even, when she was being particularly honest, for Lucius. Their union had bought no one happiness. And yet. 

Yet, it had bought her Draco. She would have endured anything for that. 

"Albus has asked me to remain at the castle to help supervise the students remaining for the holidays." Left unsaid was that he was staying for Draco. If he lived. 

Narcissa appreciated it all the same. "Thank you," and watched as Severus smiled back, noting that the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. 

* * * 

The hospital room had the feel of approaching death. It was nothing definable, per say, just obvious in the expressions of the people seated inside, and in the lingering stillness of the only person who remained unmoving. 

Narcissa clearly remembered her father's wake after his death and the similarities between that event and what was happening now was a little too real. A little too much, and she was grateful when she felt a hand at her elbow directing her to the chair next to her son's bed which she sank appreciatively into and gripped her sons hand. 

Madame Pomfrey, whom Narcissa recalled from her own days at Hogwarts, keep bustling in and out of the room, trying, she supposed, to kept up the pretence of being busy. Severus stood patiently by her side, and avoiding looking at the sole occupant of the bed, said, "Minerva has gone to fetch Albus." 

Feeling that she wasn't quite up to the task of responding, Narcissa simply nodded and looked around at the other occupants of the room. On the opposite side of the bed, across from her, she recognised Draco's friends, Vincent, Gregory, Blaise and Pansy. Pansy looked like she had been crying but appeared much too exhausted to continue and lay slumped against Gregory on the chair they shared. Gregory was very carefully running his fingers through the girl's hair, in what he supposed was a comforting gesture, and had his eyes fixed solely on the pale figure of her son. Blaise had fallen asleep, his knees curled up and against his chest, his head rolled back and directed towards the ceiling. No one felt inclined to wake him. Vincent keep glancing worriedly at Draco, and shooting glares across the room at an annonymous figure. 

Following his gaze she saw a small boy, probably the same age as Draco, tucked discretely into the window seat in the far corner of the room. There were no overhead lights and what light there was in the room didn't quite reach that particular corner, and it was no wonder that she had completely missed seeing him when she first entered the room, as his entire figure seemed to meld with the darkness, enveloping it. 

"Narcissa this is Harry Potter." Severus had caught her look and if she knew her old friend correctly, was attempting to distract her and keep her mind of her son. Why the Potter boy should still be here was anyone's guess, though the Headmaster at the very least had granted him leave to stay. 

"I believe we've met Professor." His voice was somewhat throaty, as though it had not been used in quite some time, and representing the only Gryffindor in a predominantly Slytherin environment, she realised that this was probably the case. 

"We have? Ah, yes, The Quidditch World Cup." And didn't that seem like a lifetime ago? 

"Mr Potter found Draco this morning. It seems he collapsed in the hallway after his Arithmancy class." And felt compelled to see this through, no doubt. _Blessed be the young_. 

She gripped her son's hand harder, and began to cry. 

* * * 

His hands were so cold and unnaturally pale. His hair, damp with sweat, was matted to his forehead and his eyes were closed, though Narcissa well knew that when open, were a dazzling silver and blazed with intelligence and humour, though usually at someone else's expense. 

"Narcissa." 

He was just so unnaturally still. 

"Narcissa." 

So very still. 

"Narcissa, we must talk." He had entered behind her and now stood, posed, at the end of her sons bed. His voice was softly rebuking and she wondered if he knew what she knew. 

"Albus. How long….when…" 

"I feel Madame Pomfrey should explain the circumstances, it is, after all, not exactly my area of expertise." 

"Narcissa," and though matronly, Madame Pomfrey's voice was not unkind. "Draco was brought in this morning. It appears that he collapsed shortly after class. Harry brought him in. He slipped into a coma shortly after that and we haven't been able to revive him yet, despite our best efforts." 

"Did he….did he say anything?" 

"Before he collapsed?" Startled at the odd question, Madame Pomfrey looked questioningly at Albus, then at Harry. "Harry? Did Draco say anything?" 

It must have come as something of a shock, Narcissa supposed, from being left alone in the corner, practically ignored by everyone else, to having eight pairs of eyes staring at him. And yet, the only person he was looking at was Draco, though he turned slightly to Narcissa in order to answer. "He, um. Said something about the thorn of a rose, or something like that. And he said that it wasn't time." He paused and looked down at his hands, spread outward, fingers flayed both palms up and then switching, palms face down, before looking back up at Narcissa. "I don't know what he meant though." 

"He meant, I suppose, that it wasn't time for this," and no one in the room doubted what she was referring to. 

"Narcissa, I do not believe we have a lot of time with Draco here. If you know anything," and he looked at her, his eyes boring into her soul, "anything at all, we need to know. I believe Madame Pomfrey has already informed you that at this rate Draco will not last until morning." His voice echoed solemnly in the room, the only sound being Pansy's renewed sobbing and hitched breaths as she struggled to contain herself. 

"I don't know what to tell you Albus, except perhaps that Draco has suffered from headaches most of his life. Since he was five I believe. He originally complained to his father, but Lucius did not approve of weakness, and he soon stopped complaining. I don't believe the headaches ceased though." Her voice was rather emotionless and pitched for Dumbledore alone, though due to the nature of the discussion, there was not a person in the room who wasn't hanging on her every word. "His nightmares started when he was around ten. He never talked of them to anyone, and I'm only guessing based on what information I've received from house elves, but I know that he slept very little and that he only managed that from weariness or the Dreamless Sleep potion. He seemed better at Hogwarts though, less troubled," gently stroking her son's forehead and wiping several strands of his hair from his face. 

"He had a few nightmares, though they weren't common, and he never talked about them. No one did," Vin said, looking nowhere but at the floor. 

"He wouldn't in any case. But they must have been getting worse. Much worse." 

"I think you need to explain what you mean Narcissa." 

"My family is a very old one. Very traditional. We guard our bloodlines just as much as we guard our secrets, and of course very old families tend to have very old secrets as well. My great-grandfather was the last to show signs of the gift, not including Draco of course. He died before I was born but from what I was told, and what I've managed to guess, his symptoms are very similar to my sons. Chronic migraines. Persistent nightmares. Eventual collapse and then death. He was twenty-one at the time. The medi-witch who administered him suggested that both your age and the time that elapsed between collapse and death were exponentially related to how talented you were. It took Morius three days to die," she sighed rather half-heartedly and looked up at Albus. "I do not think Draco will last that long." 

"I don't understand." And judging from the looks around the room, Harry Potter was not the only one who did not understand, though in Albus Dumbledore's eyes there was a spark of something very much like acceptance, and then something very much like fear. 

"Tell me Narcissa, what did the medi-witch diagnose Morius with?" 

"Morius was diagnosed as a seer." 

"Oh, heaven forbid. Narcissa are you sure?" her hands clasped before her, Madame Pomfrey looked imploringly at both Narcissa and Albus, then finally at Draco himself, as if he would provide the ultimate solution. 

"As sure as I can be. I believe that he is having a vision, or experiencing a vision, and his mind is not dealing with it. It's simply shutting down. He's, for lack of a better way of saying it, trapped in his own mind." 

And there was silence. Utter silence. 

"I think you're forgetting something," and once again Harry Potter entered the spotlight, and became the focus of everyone's attentions. "He said, 'it wasn't time'. I think Malfoy knew what was happening to him." 

"Perhaps you're right. That doesn't help us though does it? It doesn't help Draco" and only looking back did she realise that that sounded slightly more accusing than she had meant it to be. 

"Perhaps not. But I give you my word Narcissa, that I will not just let Draco die. I give you my word." And Albus walked forward and gently took Narcissa's hands in his own and squeezed gently before turning, and drawing the teachers to him, quietly left the room. 

And for the second time in less than an hour, Narcissa grabbed her son's hand and wept. 

Only this time, she dared to hope. 

------ 

Review! 


	2. Discussions

Title: **From the Cold**

Author: silenus (silenusnz@hotmail.com)  
Rating: well give it a hopeful R  
Pairing: eventual slash of the HP/DM variety.  
Disclaimer: characters belong to JK Rowling. I'm just borrowing them for a tic. 

Summary: a family secret, the emergence of a new talent. Can two boys find peace and forgiveness in post-war Hogwarts? A Harry/Draco story.   


A/N: special thanks to all those who reviewed chapter one! I have an idea of where this is going, and in case you can't tell, it's going to be a long while getting there! So keep reviewing, and let me know what you think! As to what Professor Binn's first name is, I have no idea, so I just guessed. 

**Chapter Two: ****Discussions**

Many things had changed during the course of the war, but the Headmaster's office of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was not one of them. At least not to the casual observer. Albus Dumbledore himself, or any of the figures gracing the portraits which hung suspended from the walls might have noticed subtle differences within the room, but on the whole it remained relatively unchanged. If asked, Albus might have said that the consistency and similarity seen within the office (and as an extension, the school itself) by both teacher and student alike, facilitated an easier progression from a period of peace to a period of war and back again. 

But then again, the current occupants of the room well knew how disastrous the results could be of either ignoring or disguising such progressions. Such as the problem they now faced. 

"I still do not see how this is possible Albus. Surely the family would have notified us if this were the case?" 

"Under usual circumstances perhaps we would have been Poppy. However, these last few years have been tiring for the best of us, and with Lucius's demise I fear that Narcissa has not been left in the best state." Albus's voice, though soft-spoken, was pitched perfectly for the three other faculty members in the room to hear. Usually jubilant, it was now strained and weary, reminding Severus of previous meetings he had conducted during the war. He was, without doubt, a person who could still inspire awe, and yet in the dying light of the day, sequestered around a small table within his office, Severus couldn't help but notice that he was just a man. An old man who must be _very_ tired of this. 

"Surely you're not suggesting that Narcissa is unstable Albus?" Similar to the Headmaster, Minerva's voice had not changed remarkably over the years, and it was often difficult to tell exactly what the Head of Gryffindor House was thinking. However, the worry in her features was clear to see and Severus once again felt a spark of warmth and companionship for the older Gryffindor. 

"Draco's illness has placed her in something of a state, yes, and I would not like to hazard what would happen to her if we were to lose Draco at this point. I was however, merely suggesting that Narcissa is become an uncommonly lonely woman, ostracised by many of her peers and has held onto this secret which she could with good reason see as a final wedge between herself and the rest of society. Seers have not been looked on kindly in the past. I imagine she was hoping that worries would come to nothing and that Draco was not inflicted." 

"Yes, but if she had told-" 

"It matters not Severus. We know now, and it is we who must do something. Am I correct, Poppy in suggesting that if left unattended Draco will not last the night?" 

Madam Pomfrey nodded in the sombre atmosphere. "Yes. He is in a deep coma. If he truly is a seer as Narcissa suggests then he is likely trapped inside one of his own visions. The more he fights it, the more he is drawn into it. And he is slipping away as we speak." 

"Can a potion be made that will stop him fighting? Severus?" 

Severus watched as all eyes turned to him. _Could a potion work? Perhaps a Dreamless Sleep potion? No that would be too simple_. And one by one he suggested then discarded every potion he knew of before he sighed and slowly shook his head for the benefit of the others. _No._ "His mind is in too fragile a state. Were I to give him anything it would either be nullified by his own system, or it would simply make it worse." 

"So no potions then?" 

"If there is a potion for this, I do not know of it. There are some Dark Arts spells that could halt the process though." He expected, rather than saw Albus's minute shaking of his head and continued, "Albus, I would not suggest it if I did not think it necessary." 

"I know Severus. However, I will not have any Dark Art's spells performed on him while there is still hope. It is at best, a last resort," and his voice darkened "a _very_ last resort." 

"Well then, surely there must be some written accounts of known Seers. Draco is not the first. This must have been seen before. Bacchus for one died at thirty-five, and he was a well-known seer." 

"That is my hope Minerva. It is my belief that such an accounting exists. I remember once reading a book which mentioned a 'Seer's Trial' in conjunction with the maturation of the gift. I thought it odd at the time and put it aside to research at a later date. I unfortunately never found time to research it properly. Perhaps-" and bending towards the fireplace spoke into the flames "Robert, my office now if you will." 

A moment later Severus was not surprised to see a white spectre belonging to Professor Binns rise quickly up from the beneath the floor and settle in the middle of the table. If the professor was surprised at the impromptu meeting, he did not appear so. 

"Robert it has come to our attention tonight that Draco Malfoy is a Seer and is currently in the hospital wing. Would you know of any historical records containing information about seers?" 

"What sort of information were you requiring? Birth details, death details, examples of fashion-" 

"Quite simply Robert, how they stayed alive. Perhaps something relating to a 'Seer's Trial'?" 

The ghost of Robert Binns had moved out from the table and was calmly pacing the floor to the left of the small gathering, silently muttering to himself and rubbing his chin. His head snapped up when he registered what Albus had just said. 

"Seer's Trial?" 

"Yes. Have you heard of it?" 

"It's only alluded to in a few works, and in these volumes only casually mentioned-" 

"Yes but what does it say?" snapped Minerva who had become quite agitated during the discussion and was only further annoyed by what could become a length narrative. 

"It states that when each Seer comes of age, which as I understand it, though it is debated in some academic circles, is well after puberty in wizards in witches, they are subjected to visions. Each seer is considered a vessel through which visions, from the important to the mundane are passed through. Most scholars agree that only seers who are deemed strong enough are given the visions and that the Trial represents a test of internal strength. The seers that die early are those who are apparently not suited for the position." 

Albus, who was quite well versed in his colleagues' mannerisms, did not miss the vital point as Minerva, Poppy and Severus did. "Most scholars Robert? What is your opinion?" 

"I believe that the trials actually represent a choice. The person can accept the visions or chose not to." 

"And die? That's not exactly much of a choice Robert," Minerva replied rather sarcastically. 

"To you or I the choice is perhaps academic. Life or death. You couldn't fathom choosing a path that ends in death over one that ends in life. But then neither can you envision the life of a seer. It has been referred to as a cursed life, a half-life. And if I am right in my assumption, then many have already chosen death. It is not unreasonable to think that young Malfoy might do the same." 

No! He wouldn't. _Would he?_ What exactly has Draco got to live for? A depressed mother, a dead father, a live condemned to being 'The Deatheater's Son' and a 'Malfoy', and now coupled with the visions, Severus for once in his life found himself silently agreeing with the history professor. 

Would Draco chose death over _that_ life? 

If given the choice, would _he_? 

"But that of course is not the interesting point," Severus looked up to realise that Binns, quite missing the sensation he'd caused, had not finished. "It is possible that he does not even realise that there is a choice." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Am I to assume he is in a coma of some sorts?" 

"He is." 

"How long has he been in one?" 

"For about six hours now." And no one there needed to say that perhaps this should've have been acted on earlier. Perhaps Narcissa should have been brought immediately to the school. Perhaps they would have been more time. _Perhaps_. _Perhaps. Perhaps. _

"To us, acting passively or aggressively in this situation we would interpret as a reaction to a choice. If he is fighting to control the vision he is choosing to accept it and by accepting it, accepting life as a seer. If he is merely a passenger within his vision we may see this as acquiescence. He has chosen to give up." 

"I'm failing to see your point here Robert," and by the looks Severus cast quickly around the table save perhaps Albus, he was not alone in his confusion. 

"What I'm suggesting is that Draco does not know how he is supposed to be acting. We do not know how long he has had visions. Seers are born, we know this, but we do not know when the visions start. Are they preceded by headaches and nightmares? Or are these simply actions that mask the vision. We do not know-" 

"Robert. The point." 

"The point is that it is unlikely young Malfoy has been trained. After all, who would be around to train him, the last known true seer died over a hundred years ago. If Draco is acting passively to the vision, which the amount of time he has been in his coma would suggest, he may not know that he can act otherwise." The room was silent as the ramifications of that statement sank in. "He may be walking the path to death without realising that there is another option." 

  
* * * 

Harry had never liked the hospital wing. He'd spent one too many nights within the white walls and sleeping on hospital beds, which were in his opinion, the absolutely _least _comfortable thing to sleep on. Ever. Sleeping on the floor would have been preferable in most cases, except for the fact (as he'd found out one night) that it was dreadfully cold. 

Not unlike the seat in the corner where he'd positioned himself actually. You think Madam Pomfrey would have bought a few more seats in for Malfoy's visitors, but he was much too relieved that he'd even been allowed to stay to be angry about sitting in the corner, which after all, he'd relegated _himself_ to. 

Though his segregation in the corner was certainly for the best. He couldn't imagine being more out of place anywhere. It was like he'd just casually walked into the Slytherin common room and seated himself on Malfoy's favourite chair, or if he'd sat at the Slytherin table for lunch instead of with the Gryffindor's. He was 'one of those things that doesn't belong here.' Though in retrospect it definitely helped that most of the occupants seemed to have forgotten he was there in the first place. 

From his corner he could Malfoy's mother, who still sat, unmoving, in the chair adjacent to her son's bed from when she had first entered the room. He couldn't be certain from this position, but he was sure that she was grasping Malfoy's limp hand within both of her own. Harry had only met Malfoy's mother once before and that was at the Quidditch World Cup before his fourth year, and if not for that memory he was sure he wouldn't have recognised her. He remembered her being proud, disdainfully so, and incredibly reserved. And yet here before him this Narcissa Malfoy had none of these qualities. She was just a mother who was very, very scared that she would lose her son. 

And privately, Harry thought she had good reason. 

He still, even these few hours afterwards, couldn't quite shake the image of when he had first seen Malfoy, unconscious in the corridor, from his mind. He was pale, more so than usual, and unmoving. He was lying face down on the stone floor, his bag on the floor beside him, several books spilling outwards from the canvas as if they'd been dropped in a hurry. He remembered dropping down beside him and his frantic search for a pulse, something, anything. It never even occurred to him that this was a trap, another ploy to humiliate him because something was clearly wrong; the wrongness was almost palatable, as if he could feel it in the air. 

He'd alerted Madam Pomfrey shortly after his discovery and followed her to the hospital wing. He hadn't moved since. She never asked for an explanation and he didn't try to give one. He wasn't really sure he could. How could he explain that he'd seen Malfoy lying there and somehow felt responsible for him? He couldn't even explain it to himself. 

And so he'd assigned himself the position of watchdog and steadily watched as more and more people entered the room. Firstly Crabbe and Goyle, who far from being the mindless oafs he'd once accused them of, looked incredibly sombre and kept sneaking glances at each other and then at Malfoy, worry clear on their faces. They were followed soon after by Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, though Harry had no idea how they were alerted to Malfoy's condition since neither Crabbe or Goyle had left Malfoy's side and Harry had been the first one to see him and he certainly hadn't told. Madam Pomfrey had been in and out several times, and save spotting Malfoy's head with what he supposed was a damp cloth, left them in peace for the most part. Snape eventually joined them and with him Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore. 

He'd had no idea they were sending for Malfoy's mother until she arrived, shaking and subdued, to sit next to her son. Her revelations were startling to say the least. _A seer? Malfoy?_ He wished Hermione were here to make some sense out of the jumble of his thoughts. Make sense of this mess that Malfoy had gotten himself into. 

He flat out refused to think about Malfoy's impending death. 

"Mrs Malfoy?" The speaker was definitely Pansy, being the only girl in the room, yet when Harry looked over everything was as still and as quiet as before and if not for catching her next words, wouldn't have thought she'd spoken at all. "Will….will Draco be alright?" 

And not for the first time did he remember that these were Malfoy's friends. For all that Harry personally loathed and detested him, here he was, on what was probably his deathbed, surrounded by his friends who _did not_ want him to die. How would he have felt if it had been Ron or Hermione lying in that bed instead of Malfoy. He quickly choked back a sob and vowed to think of something else. Anything else. 

"I hope so Pansy. Dumbledore has given his word, and you know he would never do that if he didn't believe it was possible to save him." Narcissa had shifted slightly in her seat to answer Pansy and Harry could see a slight smile gracing her face, and yet, it looked more like she was trying to convince herself than Pansy. He thought he saw Pansy about to reply but whatever she might have said was lost as Snape pushed open the door and bounded back into the room. 

He headed quickly over to Narcissa's side, and though evidently only speaking to her, the quietness of the room meant that Harry could hear everything even though he was on the other side of the room. 

"Narcissa? I need to ask you a few questions?" Even Harry could sense his urgency and his voice had this soft, pleading tone that he'd never heard from the Potions Professor before. 

"Sev..Severus?" 

"Have you been into Lucius's study since his death?" 

"No. Um, the house elves have though. Why?" 

"The Aurors? Did the Aurors enter the room?" 

"Of course they did. They removed all the wards from the manor, particularly in those rooms of Lucius's. What has this got to do with anything?" 

Harry thought Snape's dismissal of her questions with a casual wave of his hand was rather rude, and frankly inconsiderate. Didn't he realise that she of all people had a right to know what was happening? 

"Did they remove anything from the study? Anything at all? Did they happen to know of the secret compartment behind his bookshelf?" _Secret compartment?_ How typical. 

"Um, no, I don't think so," Narcissa replied, confused. "I was there for all their inspections, they didn't find anything in his study." Probably because they were all focused on the compartment in the drawing room, Harry thought. 

Snape smiled. That in itself was a scary thing, but he seemed positively relieved about something. There must have been something hidden in that room, something that could help Malfoy. 

"Would you give me permission to enter your house, and Lucius's study?" 

"Severus, of course. Now?" 

Severus nodded. "Now." 

Harry could feel something in the room. It wasn't excitement; Narcissa, Pansy, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle certainly weren't excited about this new prospect. But it seemed they were ready to hope. 

_Will it be enough? Whatever it is that Snape is going to get? _And then, as always happens in these situations, _what if it isn't there? _Snape's entire attitude seemed to suggest that this option was their _only_ option. He glanced quickly around the room, _it had better work then, and not just for Malfoy's sake. _

Snape bent over and kissed Narcissa briefly on the forehead before heading back out of the hospital wing, and without a second thought about his own motives, Harry followed Snape out the door and into the night. 

* * * 

"Do you really think this idea will work Albus? Wouldn't Lucius have mentioned having the book to either Narcissa or Severus?" 

"Perhaps he, like Narcissa, was hoping that it would not be needed. In any case he probably thought that he would still be around if this was to happen to Draco. However, I do not think that it is just coincidence that Severus was shown this compartment and this book shortly before Lucius's death." 

"You think-" 

"It is only a possibility Minerva. It does instil some hope though does it not? And unfortunately, that is all we have now. We must hope that it is not too late." 

------ 

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